


Just Look To Me When I'm Gone

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotion Study, Fluff, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 07:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11869818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There was a phone on his lounge room table.It was Tyler's phone.It had been Tyler's phone for two years. But for the last two weeks it had been resting on the wooden surface. Every time he saw it, he could barely bring himself to think about it, so it just stayed there, untouched.





	Just Look To Me When I'm Gone

There was a phone on his lounge room table.

It was Tyler's phone.

It had been Tyler's phone for two years. But for the last two weeks it had been resting on the wooden surface. Every time he saw it, he could barely bring himself to think about it, so it just stayed there, untouched.

Josh was stuck in a constant pendulum swing of forgetting the phone's existence or agonising over it. Either in one state or the other.

It was almost a poison, in the way Josh knew it would break him apart on the inside. Still, it held the same temptation for Josh. To consume its contents, just for the possible ease of torture.

Maybe, just maybe, it would hurt less.

Hurt less than the month trapped in his empty bed, trapped in his head. Watching perfect memories corrupt with bitter reality alongside a contradiction of denial and acceptance.

In the back of his mind he knew opening the metaphorical Pandora’s Box would bring no relief. Wouldn't end the pain. The more likely outcome would be Josh breaking himself from the inside out.

But he needed it.

He had needed it since he first entered their bed, hurt and afraid. He didn't want it. He didn't want to need it. He didn't want to hurt himself like this.

But he needed it. He needed to feel.

So Josh reached out to hold the phone for the first time in too long.

It was cool to the touch and Josh didn't know why he expected any different. It was just a phone regardless of what had happened. But the crack on the screen made a tight feeling rise in his throat, constricting his breathing.

How could metal and glass feel so heavy in his fingers? Be so cold even as his warmth seeped into it?

To relieve some anxiety and stall the inevitable, he span the phone in his hand, thumb and middle finger being the only point of contact. Josh was almost certain he would break down if he touched it any further. At least right now. Still raw and vulnerable and not prepared enough. Just the extended contact against his fingertips felt like ice, and sent waves of anxiety through his body.

Time passed slowly, maybe quickly. Josh wasn't sure. He just kept spinning the phone, watching the crack in the screen create patterns as it flew in circles through the air.

This was Tyler's phone.

Like a drug hit, sudden and overwhelming, a wave of emotion rushed over him. The phone dropped to the table with a painful sound. The tightness in his throat returned alongside the stabbing pain behind his eyes. It was a sharper pain compared to the constant heavy presence inside his chest, but no less suffocating.

Josh rubbed his hands together, trying to heat them up while soothing himself with the action. He didn't know if the chill in his right hand was his imagination, or if the phone had the ability to corrupt him.

Taking another deep, shaky breath, he grabbed the phone again, holding it in his palm.

If he thought the weight and ice on his fingertips was painful, it was nothing to the bite of metal on his warm palm. It was as if all the pain and numbness Josh felt had physically collected in his hands.

He could feel the hesitation grow stronger so before he could talk himself out of it, Josh clicked the phone open to reveal the lock screen. He was expecting a sharper feeling in response to seeing the selfie of him and Tyler. It was a dull but deep pain to see their cheeks squished together, faces shining bright from the flash. They took it a few months ago at a friend's birthday, Tyler still buzzing from dominating the karaoke machine. He had practically sat in Josh's lap and raised his phone above their heads. Josh had a second to smile before the flash went off and Tyler was bringing the phone back down.

Josh remembered Tyler's smile as he set it as his background, with a little, “Perfect.”

Before the phone could close itself, shutting Josh out again, he pressed down on the button, the keypad springing onto the screen. He quickly thumbed in the passcode, 5-6-7-4.

They had stopped worrying about privacy with each other years ago.

Josh let out a wrecked, little laugh at the home screen. A flattering photo of Josh's chest and abdomen. He was pretty sure he sent that photo to Tyler a year ago. On a night that Tyler was working late, hoping to encourage him to come home earlier.

Bitter smile still on his face, he placed his thumb on an empty space on the screen, not sure what to do next. What would hurt less? Photos? Texts?

Josh settled with photos. Kind words and deep confessions would be too much right now.

With a slight pause, Josh summoned some courage before touching the photo album icon. The strength left him halfway though and his thumb sat on the app, long enough for it to shake.

He quickly cancelled the setting as he ran a hand over his mouth, squeezing his lips as a slight comfort action. _God_ , what was he doing?

His second attempt was successful, opening to multiple albums and thumbnails of Josh and Tyler's face. It hit Josh hard. When was the last time he saw Tyler's face? A month? He hadn't seen Tyler's smile since then. Yet there it was. Multiple photos. Each one smiling. Smiling so happily.

They were so happy.

Even when it went wrong they were happy. They got through it. They always got through it. They would get through it.

That's what would happen. Tyler and him would get through this.

They would be happy. So happy.

Because that's what they were, right? Happy?

Tyler and Josh.

Josh and Tyler?

Josh?

Josh wasn't happy. Was Tyler happy? God, he hoped Tyler was happy. He needed to be happy. Josh couldn't be happy if Tyler wasn't. It didn't work like that.

Had Josh smiled in a month? He was certain he hadn't. It seemed impossible. But if Tyler was happy, Josh should have been smiling, right?

The painful clawing sensation in his stomach returned and Josh wished for numbness again. He didn't want to feel this. He needed the emptiness back.

But he remembered the catatonic state he had been in for a month. Slowly decomposing on their bed. He needed to feel something again, regardless of how much it hurt.

That's why he picked up the phone. Terrified of the emptiness that had soaked into his bones.

Josh needed to see Tyler again. He needed to feel. Because what made Josh feel more than Tyler?

There was a knife sinking between his ribs as he opened the main album. Each picture of Tyler another inch as the blade slid in.

The thumbnail timestamp of a video caught Josh's eye has he scoured through the pictures. He couldn't quite recognise the content of the video.

Curiosity got the better of him as he opened it, replaced by a full but heavy pain as he realised this was Benny’s diner. This must have been, what, a month before… yeah, around a month. Tyler ended up collecting Josh from work, sending him a text that vaguely told Josh to meet him outside the building.

After four years of dating, almost six years of Tyler, Josh had stopped questioning Tyler spontaneous ways. He held no regrets when Tyler drove them to the diner of their first date, regaling stories of how, “It's such a long walk to your work, Josh, I don't know how you do it every day. But I didn't want us to have an extra car since I knew you drove yours today instead of running. Which thanks for that by the way, of all days to drive to work... Anyway, someone intentionally splashed me as I was making my way over. Who does that? No really, who–”

They had arrived at Benny’s during peak hour and were crammed into a tiny booth in the corner, not enough room to share a seat, leading them to sit opposite each other. Something Josh had mixed feelings about. Being able to touch Tyler was always calming, but Josh got to look at him for the whole dinner, so it wasn't too bad.

Josh hadn't been aware of the reason for the surprise date until after Tyler had unexpectedly asked him, “Do you know what today is?”

Which was not a good question.

Possible replies raced through his head as his anxiety made his hand tremble. Josh's heart race had spiked over the prospect of forgetting an important date. He knew it wasn't their anniversary, and it wasn't Tyler's birthday…

Josh ended up shooting in the dark, “The day we first met?”

“Yep,” Tyler had rewarded him with a pleased smile, “You forgot, didn't you?”

“Yeah,” Josh said with hesitation, but he made sure to always be honest with Tyler. “Sorry.”

“It's ok.” Josh always had contradictory feelings about Tyler's cheeky grin. When he wasn't on the receiving end, it was quite attractive. “I forgot too. Mark was the one to remind me.”

“Mark knows more about our relationship than we do half the time.”

A gurgling sound rang from Tyler's glass as he sipped on the last of his drink, the straw fruitlessly trying to pick up more liquid. “He's good with dates. I'm concerned over the fact that he knows the anniversary of when we first had sex.”

Josh switched their glasses around, giving Tyler his lemonade as he asked in surprise, “Really?”

“Mmm, told me a while ago. April something, maybe nineteenth.” Tyler said with another sip, the contents of the glass disappearing at a staggering rate. “He says he can remember because it was two days before the drywall incident.”

“Oh yeah, you're right.”

Tyler pushed the empty glass away, “I'm so glad we moved out of that house.”

“It was a traumatic era.”

They reminisced over older, harder times before being cut off by a waiter, fake eyes and pen poised over pad. Josh had ended up ordering after Tyler, watching him fiddle with his phone out of the corner of his eye.

“What are you doing?” Josh recalled asking. He remembered his tone being less curious in his memory compared to the one on the video.

It turns out Tyler had been filming Josh secretly, phone angled up as Josh had leant his chin on his palm.

“Nothing.” Tyler’s reply came from behind the camera, but Josh could remember the mischievous look on his face as he replied.

Josh had been none the wiser to Tyler's little film, just rolled the straw in his mouth. “Mmmkay.”

“I love you,” Tyler said off screen. “Like a lot.”

“I love you too.” Josh was glad he had such an open face at times, because the way his expression relaxed and filled with adoration on the screen was obvious. And there was nothing more Josh wanted in life than to let Tyler know he was loved.

“Yeah but I love you more.” Tyler’s tone was teasing as it flowed from the speakers but his face had been so sincere at the diner.

“Nah ah,” Josh had said with a laugh, “not possible.”

Josh swiped away from the video. He knew where that conversation went. Another stupid joke over who loved each other more. Josh couldn't deal with the sound of Tyler's voice listing of reasons as to why his love was stronger. The strength of Tyler's love meant nothing now.

Not when Josh looked at his empty sheets and heard the sound of silence in their home. It meant nothing now that Josh was alone. Not when Tyler wasn't with _him_ anymore.

Myriads of faces flew by as Josh scrolled through the album, stopping here and there to get a closer view of images that caught his interest.

A photo Tyler had taken in the shops, two bottles of Coca Cola pressed together with their names individually printed on the label. Tyler had sent it to him while Josh was at work, sending a caption about how he ‘ _definitely_ didn't put them next to each other, Josh and Tyler were just always meant to be together’.

A short video of Tyler leaning in for a kiss, expecting Josh to meet him halfway before turning his head at the last second. Josh's shocked expression caught perfectly on film as his eyes flew open when his mouth met cheek not lips.

A sextape that Josh immediately turned away from as soon as he recognised it.

There was a video Tyler had recorded, Josh in the corner of the frame from his position in the driver's seat, belting out lyrics as they drove the seven hour journey to their friend's wedding. Josh could be seen tapping a beat on the steering wheel, lipsyncing along as Tyler ‘serenaded’ him. The smiles on both their faces were highlighted by the mid morning light and Josh wanted to go back. Go back to when Tyler still smiled at him and everything felt right.

And god, Josh hated his voice, too flat and quiet, but he would sing his soul out if he could take the other Josh's place in the video. Too be stuck in that tiny car with him and fall a little bit more in love as Tyler screamed out the lyrics to Africa by ToTo as they drove down the freeway.

He didn't want to be here, in this silent apartment, alone and feeling like gray was seeping into his bones.

The video cut off and the silence that followed was deafening. Josh didn't realise how absorbed he was in Tyler's singing, how natural it was to relax to the sound of it. The quiet that followed the end was suffocating in the way it wrapped around Josh, reminded him of what wasn't his anymore. That he wouldn't have Tyler's ease and love anymore.

Josh watched the video a minimum of three more times, noticing and obsessing over the way Tyler sang to him. He wouldn't let the video end, dragging it back to the start before it could cut off and leave him in the emptiness of the world. He couldn't let the silence catch up to him. It became almost obsessive as he would watch the timer runout, wanting to get the most of the footage but not letting it hit the end of the film.

He messed up on the fifth play. Breath catching as the video stopped, ripping him from the safety net he made in Tyler’s voice. He contemplated rewatching it, getting lost in the moment of the past.

But he needed to see more, remember more, do more before it became too hard to bear.

Searching through the album, it was the stack of yellow preview images that caught Josh's interest, making him pause his repetitive scrolling. It was time stamped with June eighteenth, Josh's birthday.

_The balloons._

He was surprised by the own sound of his short, sharp hysterical sob. An ugly twisted thing caught between a laugh and a cry.

Tyler had always been one for theatrics at times. Over the top actions filled with sincere words and sappy meanings. Josh really shouldn't have been surprised when he awoke on his birthday to find their bedroom filled with an overflowing amount of yellow balloons.

“What…?” Josh was unsure if he was still dreaming at that point. Having only woken to a sea of plastic yellow and Tyler's proud grin, standing amongst the bright colours as they came up to his shoulders. “What did you do?”

“Tada,” he exclaimed, throwing his arms open and disrupting half the balloons, the thumping sound of empty latex bouncing against empty latex. “Happy birthday.”

Balloons fell off the bed onto more balloons on the floor as he had sat up, picking up the closest yellow orb near him, turning it in his hands. “Do I want to ask why?”

“Of course you do.” There was a comedic twenty seconds as Tyler waddled forward to the bed, careful not to pop any under his feet. “Anyway, it's a balloon for each time I've fallen for you. Yellow edition.”

“Yellow edition?” Josh had been almost too concerned to ask.

“Every time I've fallen for you with yellow hair.”

“That's too sappy.” Josh had ended up with his head thrown back as a laugh tore its way from his body with surprise. He bounced a balloon off Tyler's beaming face, the contact not breaking the pride in his eyes. “I've only had yellow hair for a couple of months.”

“I know.”

“I can't believe you filled our room with balloons,” Josh had said with a smile. “You're something else.”

“You love it,” It was said with confidence because they both knew it was true, Josh was a sucker for heart filled actions from those closest to him. Strangers not so much.

Josh had only given Tyler a loving shake of his head in disbelief, “How long did it take to set this up?”

“I've been blowing them up since you fell asleep.”

“So that's why I finally got a sleep in.”

Tyler had continued to argue the advantages of rising early for minutes afterwards, making a comfy spot on the bed surrounded by bright balloons.

Josh could see the progress photos on Tyler’s phone, the countless pictures as their bedroom slowly filled with yellow. Scattered between the shots were some photos of Josh's sleeping face, cheek squished against the pillow in the early morning light. It took a large portion of his restraint to not delete them, conflicted between his dislike of his sleeping figure and the want to preserve the memories. He quickly glossed over the few where Tyler had photobombed his own photo, ecstatic face in the foreground as Josh slept in the back.

The last few photos of yellow were Josh and Tyler handing the yellow balloons out to patients and staff. Tyler's words were in his mind with an almost clear cut quality as he reassured Josh, “Don't worry, we're taking them to the hospital later and handing them out.”

The immediate photo after the balloon section was Tyler's hand clasped around Josh's, fingers thread together. Their joined hands filled most of the frame, with only the vague background of the car's console.

This must have been taken on Josh's birthday still, on their way home after celebrating with the family. Dying light still enough to provide illumination in the car but able to cast shadows and an orange glow as Tyler took photos of their hands.

It wasn't really a special photo in any outstanding sense. Just intertwined fingers in a slightly blurry photo, but it hit Josh the hardest so far. The simplicity and quiet of the photo hollowed something in his chest, the craving for Tyler hitting a peak as a contradictory rage and numbness filled him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted something and nothing. He wanted –

Josh moved on, tried to stuff everything down. Contained all the rage and doubt and longing in the dark part of his soul as he moved on, looked at other photos. Screenshots and pictures of loose paper with smatterings of lyrics, fuzzy pictures of late night escapades and Josh's hands on the kitchen counter, wrapped around a drink, hiding a smile, holding Tyler. Josh's smile, Tyler's following. Sunsets and sunrises.

A series of images from when Tyler woke Josh early. Empty in the way that followed Tyler when he hadn't slept that night, a twisted peace that clung to him. A picture of Josh before Tyler had woken him with a shake and a plea for Josh to follow him. A picture of the sunset over the city landscape as they sat on the roof of their house.

Only a few, just one or two to preserve the memory. Spending the rest of the waking day bundled in each other's arms as Josh grounded Tyler, sat there in comfort as Tyler remembered that this life was his. That he deserved this and he could keep it. The last two of the small series was Josh's profile washed in hues of pink and orange as he stared into the distance, too lost in his head. The last picture was a peaceful selfie, almost too candid for an intentional photo as Tyler pressed a gentle, thankful kiss to Josh’s cheek.

Tyler had whispered a simple, “thank you.” Had threaded his fingers through Josh's and collected himself in Josh's arms. Had made him breakfast as an appreciation gift, something simple with blueberries. Had said, “I'm glad that this is mine. That I lived long enough for this to happen to me. That you're here for me.”

Josh had only smiled and said, “you're welcome.” Because everything he had done for Tyler was seemingly nothing to Josh, he had only shown Tyler the appreciation, love and support he needed. Josh had been there for Tyler because that's what he deserved.

More photos of Josh. Tyler's face. Pictures of drawings, and words, and shapes in the margins of books and papers. Tyler's feet in Josh's lap as they sat on the couch watching a movie. A picture of them kissing, their friends over dramatic disgust in the background as they walked the streets of the city: followed by a more scandalous one in their bedroom, tongue obviously framed with small strands of saliva between their previously attached mouths.

Another of Tyler leaning in for a kiss, tugging on Josh's sleeve for him to face Tyler. Josh leaning in to meet him halfway, eyes closing in peace. Tyler moving his head last second with a victorious smile as Josh kissed his cheek. The word “tease” falling from Josh's lips before the video cut off.

(Tyler did love playing that little game.)

Progress pictures of cookies Tyler baked one day. A screenshot of an article he sent Josh. A picture of his hand against the bathroom sink. Multiple images of their friends cat, one after the other from the time they went over to his and Tyler got overly attached to the white ball of fluff. Another very unflattering picture of Josh.

And then there was the professional photo shoot at their local forest. The one Josh liked to jog through in the morning and walk through at night, hand in hand with Tyler.

Tyler had grabbed him by the arm and stopped him, and like the sap he was, dropped to one knee.

He had hired a professional photographer, a friend of a friend, to take pictures.

They were beautiful. The sunset in the background, peeking through the native pine. Josh's shocked and then ecstatic expression. Tyler's anxiety and then joy as Josh practically leaped onto him.

It was almost generic in its picturesque nature.

He briefly checked the time stamp. Only just over a year ago. They had been engaged for over a year.

It made sense, the wedding was meant to be in a couple of months. But the time seemed to pass at lightspeed, rushing in front of Josh before he could capture it.

Photos of immediately after they got their matching tattoos, still kind of bloody and swollen, the black ink surrounded by red. They had gotten them a month before Tyler proposed. Some shop downtown let them walk in, a spur of the moment choice. The lady had even let Tyler do parts of it, the shop shady enough to ignore the health and safety concerns of the action.

Josh became hyper aware of his leg, jittering and shaking with unpleasant energy, seeming to burn from the ink under his skin.

And then just pictures of Tyler and Josh, Josh asleep and turned into the bed before another one of Josh in the kitchen, light shining from the window next to him as Tyler sat at the counter. There was a video of Tyler filming Josh humming, and then the camera flipping around to see Tyler leaning on one hand just smiling at Josh with such a peaceful smile, the early morning light making him seem so clear and quiet.

He wanted the domesticity back. He wanted Tyler back.

“No.”

It was filling his whole body, a rush of energy and pain and longing that built, and built, and built. Growing from his bones outwards, starting in his chest and spreading to his fingers like a plague. Pushing his skin away from his body, barely contained pain and longing.

“No, no. No.” Josh was a broken record of denial, trying to keep everything at bay, push it down. “ _No_.”

Josh clawed at his twisted, open mouth: a silent scream. He pulled at the skin of his mouth, gripping the edges of cheeks, a ragged fingernail digging into the bag of his eyebrows, hoping the pain would ground him. Subdue the energy brewing within him. It wasn't working, not fast enough. Not enough to stop the rage growing in him as more denials slipped from his mouth. The fingers that slid into the hair at his nape didn't help, not even when he tugged and pulled, physically trying to draw the pain from him.

The screen flattening into black was what made him snap. The image of Tyler and Josh being replaced with the empty, twisted reflection of Josh was enough to push him over edge.

It felt so freeing, so consuming to release it in a scream. A broken, thick scream, maybe more similar to a hysterical yell. But it was the lighting of a fuse. The beginning of the breakdown as Josh yelled into the empty apartment, fighting the silence off with a desperate cry.

His voice cut off with a high pitched crack, physical pain from the sudden abuse of his vocal chords after weeks of silence. But it felt so good to let it out. To let the anger and outrage wash over him and fall away.

In an outburst, Josh ripped himself from the couch, raising his foot back and slamming it on top of the coffee table.

 _Snap_.

Again. Pulling his foot back and kicking down onto the table as hard as he could, heel first, each splinter and piece of glass twisting something inside him.

The potted plant Tyler bought fell with a thunk, ceramic breaking on impact and dirt spilling to the ground.

Josh yelled again, broken and loud and unconcerned over who heard as he stamped on the table again, again, _again_. The top split in two, not cleanly, too many cracks and injuries for it to be considered a clean split. But it was satisfying as it fell inwards, both parts hitting the ground with a thud.

Josh kept going, targeting the weak centre of each half, smiling something wicked as it fell apart beneath him.

“Don't you _dare_ ,” Josh screamed, each word punctuated by the heavy breaking of wood under a strong kick, “How could you _leave_ me? Why?”

And his voice hurt so much, the yelling and screaming and pleading literally ripping it apart after almost a month of disuse.

The sole of Josh's foot bled over the wood and glass as chunks and pieces of the table stabbed into him. It felt so good, the pain, the rage, the release.

He needed more.

He needed it as he was picking up debris with his free hand and throwing it at the wall, chipping paint and cracking drywall. Each indent furled his action, made him feel stronger: maybe he could overcome this.

Kicking and screaming, Josh let go, destroying what he could see. A small part of him mindful of Tyler's ukulele in the corner. He couldn't do that. Never. No matter what.

Caught in his fit of explosive energy, Josh turned and threw Tyler's phone at the couch. A moment of freedom, a second of peace as the satisfaction washed over him before the horror and fear struck.

“No.” As if his yell could stop the phone’s trajectory.

It collided with the cushion, making a flat sound before bouncing and clattering to the floor.

Josh didn't even check to see if it was okay, just turned on a slick heel and rushed to the bathroom, nausea tearing up his insides. He plummeted from his high as he scrambled to the toilet, hastily opening it a second before he leant over.

Sweat broke out over him as he vomited, hair standing up, an unpleasant, sick coldness seeping through his skin.

Flushing, Josh stumbled into the shower, turning it on with shaking hands, sitting on the floor, back to the wall as the cold rained over him. His clothes growing heavy and sticking to him as they became waterlogged.

It began to warm up by the time Josh struggled out of his pants, kicking them to the side of the shower with a heavy _schlick_ sound. The shirt got caught around his head and Josh considered just giving up, letting it trap him with his hands up and around his head, for him to slowly drown with the fabric against his mouth.

Water filled his mouth through the material, clogging his breathing, his face pushed back by the construction of the shirt. He couldn't breathe and it felt so good, felt so overwhelming, because it was an outside force taking over his body, not his own mind and emotions.

Rough choking sounds rang out, bouncing against glass as the water overflowed, as it made its way down Josh's airways when he took in a breathe.

His ears flushed with blood and burned after Josh tore the shirt of his head, the folded end of his ear getting stuck in the fabric and being pulled, torn, bruised. He let the water fall out in rivers as he tried to breathe, throat constricting and water from above pelting on the back of his head.

The shirt remained wrapped around his wrist and forearms like handcuffs, restraining him as he fell on his side. Gasping on the shower floor, wishing for something but _this_. This pain.

Curled up in a ball, Josh laid there, defeated, voice still raspy as he inhaled. The water slowly cooled, to the point where Josh shivered as the droplets hit him.

He couldn't find it within him to even cry, laugh, scream at the sight of Tyler's body scrub. Placed on the floor opposite him, hiding amongst their shared soaps and cleansers.

It was so _stupid_.

Tyler never let Josh use it, claiming he had ‘sensitive skin’. So protective of a stupid scrub. They shared everything in the shower except for the razors and that scrub.

The scent of it was probably the only thing that separated him and Josh. They had the same washing detergent, same shampoo, same conditioner, same soap. But Tyler also had that stupid scrub.

The stupid scrub that Josh reached for with clumsy and covered hands, only his fingertips poking out from the material. The container tipped as Josh's weak hand hit it, rolling closer to his spot on the floor. Rolling, rolling, until it hit his chest.

Desperate fingers and jagged nails pulled open the top before Josh inhaled, ignoring the water getting in his eyes and mouth.

And suddenly it was Tyler. The same scent Josh smelled when he buried his nose in Tyler's neck. And how was it harder for Josh to deal with the smell of Tyler than the sight of him through recorded film and happy smiles.

And then Josh was angry again.

He was throwing the container, hitting the tiles with a plastic sound. He was ripping the shirt off his arms with a feverish passion. Kicking out against the wall. Going to stand and falling in his haste, head hitting the wall.

He was so angry.

And then he wasn't. The fight leaving him in an instant.

“Why?” He wasn't really sure who he was talking to. God? Tyler? Just the walls of his cold bathroom? “What did I do wrong? I promise.”

Josh threw his head back against the wall a couple of times, letting out a shaking exhale, “I promise I'll be better. Why did you take him from me? Please.”

Hands wrapping around his shins, pulling them to his chest, too tired and empty. “I need him. Give him back to me, I'll be so good, I need him. You can't just–”

What was Josh even talking about? He can't… Tyler wasn't coming back.

What was he doing? Talking, begging, pleading to the walls of his bathroom: as if that would fix everything.

For so long he had hated the thought of Tyler taking his own life, dying by his own hands. The fear that one night it would be too much, that Josh wouldn't be enough to help, haunted him.

Tyler had the same fears at the beginning of their relationship. Had sent Josh texts, and confessed that he was scared. Scared that he was going to hurt Josh along the way.

Said he wasn't good enough for Josh, which was a lie if he ever heard one. Was hesitant to start the relationship. And Josh respected that. He told Tyler he didn't have to, but Josh would be there for him regardless of whether it was as a friend or in a relationship.

They didn't start dating until after Tyler broke down and began to fix himself.

He had texted Josh one night, and he could immediately tell something was off.

Josh fired off a series of texts as he rushed to grab his keys, asking if Tyler was okay? Was he safe? And _Tyler, please answer me._

The ‘no’ he received in return was the most terrifying moment Josh had felt in his life. He had wanted to vomit as he made his way down the dark streets, a little too fast for the backstreet roads.

Tyler had given him a copy of his house key a few months beforehand, saying he was getting too lazy to get up just to let Josh in. It had taken him three attempts of calming himself before he could fit the metal inside the slot without shaking and missing.

The bathroom was where Josh found Tyler, sitting curled up on the floor, back against the tub.

Defeated.

That's the only way Josh could describe Tyler in that moment. Body too small and face too empty as he gazed at his weapon of choice on the other side of the room.

“I was going to do it.”

Josh sat down next Tyler, not too close, but enough to show solidarity.

“I know.”

“I want to get help,” Tyler had said, mouth the only moving part of his body, “I can't let it go on like this. I'm so scared.”

Josh had cried. He couldn't remember if it was from grief or relief.

Tyler sewed himself back together again, using thread given to him from the support of his family, his therapist's advice, Josh's words, and the glue of antidepressants. Fighting and fighting, and slipping sometimes, but he was getting better.

He got better. He asked Josh out. Said he felt safe, safe in himself and for Josh.

He began to smile more than cry. A spontaneous nature growing in him as he _enjoyed_ more, could see the thrill in life.

There was still nights that seemed too dark, and weeks that felt too empty, but he got through them step by step.

He got to the point where he was able to slide a ring onto his left finger and believe in a future.

They had discussed having a kid, both so family orientated and after years of trust, it seemed like the next natural step.

And now Josh couldn't have that. It was a future too golden for him. Stolen from his fingers before he could even cling onto it.

“Please come back.”

It fell from his mouth into the too empty room. There was meant to be someone there to reply. Tyler was meant to be there.

Josh needed the comfort of Tyler's presence. He needed Tyler to come home to him. He needed the warmth of Tyler's hand on his shoulder. The security of Tyler's arms around him, shielding him. The tender touch of Tyler's lips on his. He needed Tyler to come back to Josh. He needed Tyler so, so bad.

He needed Tyler's voice.

Erratic in the way he stood, Josh rushed to their bedroom, searching for his phone. Throwing clothes from their place on the floor and flipping covers, desperately looking for the device. Wedged into the blank space between his pillow and Tyler's, hidden under the fabric of Tyler's pillowcase, was where he found it.

Anger gripped at Josh's back as his phone refused to turn on, battery drained after a week of neglectance. It took a few attempts for his shaking hands to plug his phone into the charger, sitting on the edge of the mattress, waiting, waiting, waiting.

The sound of his phone coming to life was both a relief and almost infuriatingly obnoxious. Josh couldn't help the noise of frustration as the phone tugged on the charger as he brought it up, being stopped halfway. Flipping through contacts, Josh paused before choosing Tyler's, bending over so he could bring the phone to his ear.

There was a moment, just of blissful silence. A moment where Josh believed, truly, for a brief second, that Tyler would pick up. That Tyler’s voice would flow through the speaker and whisper comforts into his soul. That the repetitive call tone would end and Josh would wake up from this nightmare.

But the moment was broken as Tyler's phone vibrated from the other room, shaking with the call of a cover of some lovesick song. Tyler said the song reminded him of Josh, reminded him of Josh's love. Said the song was a reminder that everything would be alright. He had believed it, every time he heard it, it brought him comfort.

The song seemed to mock him now.

It didn't really kick in until that moment, the possibility that Josh would never feel Tyler’s love again. That he was stuck to deal with this hollow emptiness forever.

“ _Fuck_.”

Josh was drowning and in need of a lifeline.

Stumbling, Josh tried to make his way back to Tyler’s stupid phone, answer the mocking ringtone.

It felt like time was molasses, so slow, taking forever for the phone to reach his hand. The vibration against his palm was the only other sign of movement, of life, the apartment had seen besides Josh for so long.

And then so soon it was gone, Just an empty, cold, heavy brick in his hand. A tie to Tyler that had been cut.

There would be no more memories made on this phone. No more deliveries of kind words. Only a relic, a memorial of past love and connection.

A museum of what once was.

As if Josh hadn't tortured himself enough, with a bleeding heart and foot, he unlocked it again, pressing down on the messaging app.

It felt weird to see the texts from Tyler's phone, his messages on the left instead of right. He could see the last four texts:

 **[Joshie]:** Tyler, babe. Pick up your phone, I've been calling for an hour. Dinner's gonna get cold.

 **[Joshie]:** you're 2 hours late. What's happened?

 **[Joshie]:** Tyler, are you safe? You know I love you so much, and all I need in life is for you to come home at the end of the day and tell me you love me. If it's gotten bad again I'm here, I'll always be here. We're going to get married and one day have a family and you'll make it through. I love you so much.

And there was one last text, an hour after the rest of the texts but only a minute after Josh received the call from the hospital.

 **[Joshie]:** please tyler. tell me they called the wrong person. please just call me back. please don't leave me. please.

He had sent it with one hand, rushing to collect clothes, a pillow, healthcare records, birth certificates, anything that could help and more. Stuffing them into a bag with shaking hands and a nauseous body.

The drive to the hospital was terrible, the formal phone call ringing in his mind. The fears that he would get there and be alone, have Tyler no more, had been almost unbearable at the time.

Josh had believed that the drive to the hospital was one of the most painful experience he would experience in life.

He had been so wrong. So, so wrong.

Tyler had been in a natural coma, the nurse told him it wasn't out of the question for those with major head injuries.

Josh had never seen Tyler like that, bruised and cut, tiny in the sterile bed as machines watched over him like scarecrows.

A cast wrapped around his elbow, left leg, and collarbone. The voice of the doctor going over the injuries was both too quiet and too loud. Josh couldn't hear him, yet the bucket list of complications seemed to echo in his brain.

“Impacted drivers side.”

_Car accident._

“Traumatic brain injury.”

_Apparently it had led to a brain hemorrhage. Bleeding in the brain._

“Puncturing to the abdomen.”

“Contusions on the arms and legs.”

“Fracture to the clavicle,” he had said, “Dislocated elbow.”

“High ICP.”

Tyler was broken.

They had to place him in a medical coma two days later. He had awoken delirious with altered speech and hysteria. Tyler had screamed and thrashed as best as he could in his bed before the doctors sedated him.

Josh had been useless. Standing in the doorway, watching the scene go down without a move on his part.

It had taken two days of rest before they began to wake him up, slowly, easing him into consciousness.

Tyler had been better. No manic movement. But he had been in pain. High levels of pain. Crying levels of pain. Josh had held his hand and tried to comfort him, but they had to sedate him again. The medication to alleviate the pain knocking him unconscious.

Josh had returned the next day, hoping for the best.

The pain had gone down, judging by Tyler's calmer reaction, but his memory was blurry. He couldn't remember their conversation yesterday. He had no idea that Josh had visited. Couldn't even remember that he had been in an accident.

He kept asking why he was in the hospital, apologising when Josh told him he had been in a car accident. “I'm so sorry. Josh, I'm so sorry.”

“It's not your fault.” Josh had replied, palm wrapped around his nape gently, careful of Tyler's head.

“But, you're worried. You're stressed.”

And wasn't that just like Tyler. To be more concerned over Josh's welfare than his own, even though Josh wasn't the one hooked up to an IV and heart monitor.

Josh didn't even get to comfort him before Tyler was vomiting over Josh's front.

The warmth soaked through the fabric and felt terrible against his skin.

The smell was worse.

Tyler had cried as he apologised.

The shirt was removed and the nurse gave him a spare hospital cloth to cover himself.

Madison, Tyler's designated nurse, decided it was time to sedate Tyler again, his hysterics not calming as he begged for forgiveness. Kept apologising even after the countless times Josh reassured him it was okay.

It got harder going home each day. The house felt quieter each time and the memories of Tyler slowly falling apart stuck to him. But he had hope.

The doctor said it would require a lot of rehab, and some things would never be the same. _Brain Damage,_ he had said solemnly, _there's still things medicine can't solve._

Mood swings could be permanent. His head had taking a lot of blunt force. Same with the possibility of memory loss, but they reassured Josh that it could have been temporary. Just a side effect of the trauma. It wasn't uncommon, they said. He would get better.

So Josh tried not to worry when Tyler spoke, slow and halting, broken and confused, “Josh?”

“Yeah, I'm here.” Josh's hand had been attached to Tyler's since he woke up, a constant physical support. He had hoped it had helped Tyler, he couldn't really tell at the time. “What's up?”

“I–” he had squinted, staring out the window for a minute. Josh had to squeeze Tyler's fingers to get his attention again. “Huh, Josh, you're here?”

Josh had nodded, reply cut off before he could begin when Tyler asked, “Where is here?”

“The hospital, you were in an accident.”

“Really?”

Another minute pressure against Tyler's hand, grounding him, trying to keep him in the moment. “Yeah, pretty bad.”

“Sorry.”

“It's not your fault.”

Tyler had tried to cup Josh cheek, tried to make a connection, but when Tyler's palm hit against the side of Josh's temple instead, it hurt. It hurt so much. For both of them.

For Josh to see Tyler become a shadow. A tired, confused vessel of what his former self had been as his body refused to cooperate. Brain failing him. Motor control and memory slowly evaporating into a mess.

And probably for Tyler, to watch Josh slowly lose hope.

“Shit.” Josh gasped. “We were going to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“Technically I am.” Tyler laughed, twisted humour mixed with disbelief.

“God damn it, Tyler.” Choked breath, broken laugh, thick voice, “Not funny.”

“I don't want to leave you: I don't want to hurt you. I already hurt you so much.” And Josh wanted to claw the words out from Tyler's throat, tell him that Tyler had never hurt Josh. But his voice had been so sore. And his mind so sore. So he sat there, next to Tyler's deathbed as they stared out the window. “Aren't I so lucky? I get to spend the rest of my life with the person I love.”

And then like a switch, Tyler was gone again. Zoning out only to return confused and small.

Selfishly. So, so selfishly, Josh had cried. Sobbed. Weeped on Tyler's lap while the man he loved sat confused.

He could feel Tyler's hesitation, his anxiety about the situation.

He didn't know where he was. He didn't know why his fiancé was crying.

And Josh was selfishly making it worse.

But he couldn't stop it.

“Where am I?”

He couldn't stop.

“Josh?”

He couldn't stop the way his body was convulsing, shaking against the weak muscle of Tyler's leg, probably disrupting the cast.

And then the moment Josh looked up, tears clouding his vision, he saw Tyler take in the room for the first time.

The heart monitor, the IV, Josh's crying. It wasn't a hard puzzle to put together. Even with the hindrance of a bleeding brain.

“Oh, I'm going to die, aren't I?” Tyler had said it so calmly that it almost didn't sound like a question. It was a revelation. An acceptance. “I don't know how but… this isn't good.”

The sound of Tyler's laugh was something Josh would never be able to forget. Sharp. High. Cutting through whatever peace was left beforehand.

Their room was a symphony of Josh's clogged weeping – snotty nose and cries as he sobbed for the boy who wouldn't leave the room – and Tyler’s broken, disbelieving laughter.

It was almost a horror scene, blood literally dripping from his nose as he cackled over his inevitable death.

As if his brain could finally accept how broken it was, everything went to hell. Tyler's laughter rippled through his body, ripping it apart as he doubled over, landing on Josh's shoulder.

And it wasn't until that moment, with their faces so close, Josh in Tyler's lap looking up into the broken face of he man he loved, that he saw how far gone Tyler was.

His left pupil was dilated. To the point where Josh believed that his favourite shade of brown was fully corrupted by the black.

It was manic. The laughter, the heaving breaths of air, the uneven eyes.

The nurse had come into the scene and pulled Josh into the hallway, handing him tissues and said it was normal for patients to laugh.

That was the last time Josh saw Tyler.

He had headed home, so overwhelmed that he had begged for the silence and emptiness of the sheets.

He awoke to a message that Tyler passed away that night.

Josh had hated it.

Hated it.

Josh had _hated_ it. Had hated the idea of Tyler taking his life so much, his biggest fear. But it wasn't until his life was gone that Josh realised that the majority of his fear hadn't stemmed from Tyler killing himself, it was the thought of losing Tyler.

And didn't it now tear him up inside to know that Tyler didn't even have a choice.

He never got a choice.

And he was gone.

He was gone and he had taken everything Josh needed with him.

“He's gone.”

Josh sniffled, his vision clouding.

“He's fucking gone.”

He inhaled along to a broken metronome, shattered gasps as he began to cry. Weep. Sob. Hyperventilating in an empty home.

Josh was a mess. Smearing snot over the back of his hand as he wiped it away from his upper lip. Throat constricting and choking him with each broken cry. His face a wet mess.

His body hurt so much, chest too tight and shoulders shaking.

Pitiful. Josh must have looked so pathetic. But he couldn't stop. He was drowning.

Attempting to dry his face with tear soaked hands, constantly wiping away at his cheeks.

The terribly pathetic sound of sniffling and broken cries. That's all Josh was now.

That's all Josh would be without Tyler. 


End file.
